


Every bell that tolls

by SQ (proteinscollide)



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 01:50:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proteinscollide/pseuds/SQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The truth is, Alison barely knew Beth. But maybe there was a moment where they found comfort and connection in being just one of a few.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every bell that tolls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [delicatetobreak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delicatetobreak/gifts).



> Thank you to Ro (littlerhymes) for beta-ing!

They’ve met just the once in person since the day Beth first called. She'd been nothing but a voice on the phone then, calm and efficient and official; not a hint of the surprises in store when Alison agreed to meet later that week.

But after that meeting, Alison kept it to texts and brief conversations snatched in between moments, after the kids had gone to bed and Donnie was asleep in front of the TV in his La-Z-Boy. It was easier on her schedule, on her nerves. On the phone, away from the reminder of Beth’s face, she could listen to the pounding of her heart in the silent safety of her craft room, and the whole situation didn’t seem as unreal when she was sat before a pile of growing coupons or pipecleaner flowers.

***

When the sharp trill rings out in the midst of one of the kid’s soccer matches, Alison’s more focussed on one of the boys on Gemma’s team, wondering if she’ll finally catch him deliberately kicking the shins of the smaller kids as she’s suspected. She fishes the pink phone out the left pocket of her jacket, excusing herself as she answers it and hands the whistle to Ainslie, frowning as she tries to catch up with the flow of words coming from Beth.

“Later tonight?” Alison says after a few moments, the frown deepening on her face. “This is pretty late notice, Beth. The kids - ”

“I need - please,” Beth says. Her voice is tight, as it’s been in the last few times they’ve talked, but there’s an edge there that’s new, making her voice seem younger, less sure than ever. “I think we’ve found - found out something. Something new and. It’s - I - ” Beth takes a breath, voice shaky as she adds, ”I think it’s best if I tell you in person.”

Alison shivers when she hears Beth say it, wraps her arms around herself even in the full sun. Knows something is really rattling Beth, who’s _police_ , who’s seen things Alison couldn’t even dream of. 

“Okay, let me work things out,” she says, her mind snapping into gear. Luckily she’d prepared dinner ahead, she can put it in the oven before she goes and it’ll be ready just as Donnie gets home. “Uh-huh, text me the address,” she says absent-mindedly to Beth, even as she pulls out her other phone to message Alicia down the street, promising a little extra if the girl will come over to watch the kids on such short notice. “Okay, eight, I’ll meet you there.” 

She pulls the phone away, but some impulse makes her put it back to her ear and say hesitantly, “Beth?”

There’s a quiet sound on the other end, a sigh or a sob, and then Beth says, “Yeah?”

“You - take care, okay? I’ll see you soon,” Alison says in a rush. They normally never bother much with greetings and goodbyes. But she thinks she can hear a hint of relief in Beth’s voice as she answers, “Will do, see you tonight.”

Beth’s choice of meeting place, a diner just around the corner from the station house, is a little insalubrious for Alison’s taste. She skirts around a leering man at a table near the door, spotting Beth with her head down in a booth towards the back. She slides onto the seat across the table and Beth looks up, startled, the reverse reflection of the first time they met. 

But Beth’s lost weight, lost colour, since that time. And it’s none too bright in here, but Alison can see there’s a red tinge to Beth’s eyes, a lost look in them as she gazes at Alison, though her lips curl up in a wan approximation of a smile. 

Alison’s about to remark on it, ask what’s the matter, but the waitress come over in that moment and sucks in a breath as they both look up at her at the same time. 

“Twins?” she says brightly, when she’s recovered her poise. 

“You could say that,” Beth says curtly, dropping her eyes back to the menu in front of her. The girl’s smart enough to take their order and leave. 

“Is that the news you’ve got?” Alison asks. “More of us?”

Beth’s silent for a long moment. “Yes, and no,” she says slowly. “Katja - “

The waitress walks back with their coffees, black and nasty. Beth wraps her hands around the mug straight away, saying nothing more until the woman walks away. 

“The German,” Alison prompts. “Did she find more?” 

“A hit on Interpol,” Beth says. 

“Interpol?” Alison asks, alarmed. “One of us is - a criminal?”

“No,” Beth says. “She - she died. Four months ago. A French girl. An unsolved case.” She grimaces, and closes her eyes for a moment. She looks exhausted, and Alison wonders for a moment if she’s actually fallen asleep, then Beth’s eyes fly open and she adds, “And another, an Austrian, two weeks ago. Though the authorities think that one’s an accident.”

Alison’s hand flies to her mouth. “That’s three of them all up. Three of us, dead, in the last six months. How many more might be out there?” She tries to keep the panic out of her voice, but with every new piece of information Beth drip feeds to her over the last few weeks - none of it is adding up to anything good. 

“Three’s all Katja’s found,” Beth says. Her voice is so low now that Alison has to lean in to catch all the words, over the low hum of conversation around them. “There’s just - Katja thinks she was meant to be next. Someone broke into her apartment last night. All our research is safe - she has it locked away, along with samples from the other women - but.” She pauses, then continues in a rush, “She left our names and addresses out, and it disappeared in the break in. I’ve got to look further into it, and I will, I just - I just need time and to get my head around it and - ”

She stops suddenly. Her hands are still wrapped around the mug of coffee as she lifts it to her mouth for a sip, but even clasped tight Alison can see she’s trembling. And then she has another unusual impulse, the second she’s had today towards Beth, that makes Alison reach out for Beth, holding her hands in between her own. 

It’s the first time they’ve touched, Alison realises belatedly. She’s used to holding Donnie’s hands as they walk around the block after dinner, her kids’ hands in hers almost every day - but Beth’s are an unfamiliar feel against her skin. The same skin as hers, she knows from the DNA sequencing Cosima has shown her, irrevocable proof that they’re the one and the same, but Beth’s hands are rough against her own, calloused in places along her fingers, her palm. 

“They’re from my service weapon,” Beth says abruptly, and Alison suddenly realises she’s been stroking a particular rough spot with her thumb. She almost pulls away, but Beth’s got a grip on her now, their hands intertwined on the table between them. 

“So, the German thinks she’s being hunted by the same person who killed our - the others, and now they know who we are and where we live,” Alison says slowly, the last couple of minutes catching up to her.

Beth’s fingers twitch, between hers. “Yes,” she says. “But I’ll keep us safe, I’ll find a way.” She looks right into Alison’s eyes and repeats it, “I’ll find a way, I promise.” She stares down at their hands, still clasped together, and she says slowly, “You said - you don’t have to be home right away, do you?”

Alison hesitates. She told Donnie she had an errand to run and she’d be late home, that dinner was in the oven, that Alicia would put the kids to bed before nine. He’d grunted, his eyes glued to the football on the TV, as if he barely noticed her presence, let alone her absence. 

“No,” Alison says. “No, I’ve got time.”

“Good,” Beth says. “Come back to my place for a drink.”

Alison’s more of a chardonnay kind of girl, but Beth has a shelf of top-label spirits in her kitchen, and a practiced familiarity as she pours shots for both of them. Beth has them drink one for each of the dead, in quick succession, a morbid toast and reminder, but after that, the night seems much less oppressive, the news less grim. Alison lets the liquor chase the fears deeper inside her, feels the control slip away from her bones. 

“Your place is nice,” Alison tells Beth a little later, lying across the couch, admiring the clean lines of the room, the clean fresh smell of the material under her cheek. She rubs against it, cat-like, and Beth laughs softly just out of sight. 

Alison cranes her head and looks over to see Beth lying on the other couch. She’s stripped down to her bra and her sensible black pencil skirt, Alison’s not sure when that happened but when she looks down she realises she’s lost her socks and jeans along the way too. The couch feels great under her bare skin; she bends her knees and plants her feet against the plush material and slides them back and forth. 

“Want some more?” Beth slurs. She’s drinking directly from the bottle in her hand. Alison looks blearily at the other bottle by her head on the coffee table, gives up on reading the label before she raises it to her lips and takes another swig. It’s potent, whatever it is, burning down her throat. But it feels good; it tastes like freedom, of discovery. 

“Sometimes,” she says, giggling a little nervously at the thought that’s popped in her head, that’s out of her mouth before she can stop herself. “Sometimes he just finishes, you know, and falls asleep on top of me. Before, you know,” she trails off with another giggle, one that turns into a hiccup. 

She closes her eyes, the room spinning for a moment, and then she can almost feel the phantom weight of the Donnie in her story, in her life, lying on top of her, frustrating and yet somehow comforting all at once. The same presence and smell of him that she’s known since he nervously kissed her for the first time behind the bus stop after school when she was fifteen.

She doesn’t even remember how she got onto this topic, spilling the most intimate thoughts with this woman she’s known for less than half a year, things she’d never say if she were sober, but she’s pulled out of her thoughts when Beth touches her lightly on the back of her hand. 

“Paul - he’s a bit rough,” Beth says. Alison blinks, blank for a moment until her foggy brain remembers, yes, Paul, Beth’s partner. Good-looking man, going by the pictures she’s seen in the hall, on the fridge. 

“And when he gets like that I - it makes me sad. I feel like I’m just not angry enough, wild enough for him.”

Beth takes a long pull from the bottle in her clutches, before placing it on the table heavily. She sits up, frowns at it, then pushes it back with one hand until it lines up parallel to the edge, just so. “I’m not the woman he wants me to be. I’m not the woman anyone expects me to be.”

Alison frowns. Beth comes over to her then, kneeling down before her, sitting back on her heels. “Do you ever wonder why we were made?” Beth asks. She’s looking faraway, lost in her thoughts. “Do you wonder what we were made for?” 

She looks at Alison straight on then, right at her, flesh of her own flesh, blood of her blood. Alison licks her lips, and opens her mouth, then stays silent. “If we’re living the lives we’re meant to be living?”

And then Beth is kissing her, while Alison’s mind is distracted by the questions, an ordinary path of thoughts suddenly becoming crooked. By the time the panic kicks in, _this isn’t who I am_ , a thrashing of thoughts in her mind battling through the alcohol fog, _is this who I am_ , Alison’s body is already betraying her, responding to Beth’s mouth, her tongue easing past parted lips. 

Beth settles in her lap and twines the fingers of one hand with Alison’s again, drawing it to rest in the dip of her waist. She’s still kissing her, desperate, soft, and Alison feels torn between sinking into the feeling and fighting her way to the surface, to sanity. But then Beth sucks two fingers into her mouth and slides them underneath the waistband of Alison’s underwear, rocking forward to murmur in Alison’s ear, “I want you, want to make you come, want you to come first.” 

Her fingers slip in slick and deep, her thumb brushing insistent against her clit. Alison gasps and holds on tighter to Beth, giving in as the heavy feeling low in her stomach builds. Beth still murmuring, a soft stream of wordless melody, as she brings Alison closer and closer to the edge, until Alison hears her clear as a bell in her ear, saying, “Is this what you like,” as she comes, almost sobbing with relief, clamping her thighs around Beth’s hand, shaking through her orgasm. She closes her eyes tight, breathing deeply through her nose, trying to calm her pounding heart. Then she feels Beth pressing a soft, quick kiss to her lips, even without seeing she feels and knows it’s Beth and it’s herself with every part of her being - her perfume, her teeth, her desire. 

When she opens her eyes, Beth is still in her lap, legs crooked each side of Alison. She holds herself straight, her stomach taut, a body honed for action. Alison wonders if her body would look the same if she wasn’t casting her critical eye over it in the mirror. She reaches out and strokes a hand along Beth’s side, undoes her bra and lets it slip to the floor, almost hypnotised into action by the even in and out of Beth breathing. She cups one hand along the curve of her breast and marvels at the certainties of science, of an experiment that could produce the same woman over and over - even the same mole to the left of her nipple. Alison leans forward and licks at the skin around that spot, pulling Beth close with an arm around her waist, and Beth slides along willingly, riding her thigh as Alison licks and sucks at her breast, rolling the nipple in her mouth to hear Beth moan, until Beth comes with a sudden cry, falling limp into Alison’s arms. 

They stay like this, tangled in each other, for a while, unmoving. Alison drifts off to sleep feeling oddly satisfied and calm, as if that eternal search through life for somewhere, someone to belong to ended here, in the unlikeliest of people and places. And the last thing she hears is Beth softly saying, “good night”, the lightest brush of her lips across her forehead, a blanket pulled over her.

When Alison wakes, she’s lying on her side on the couch, the table before her completely clear, no trace of the night before. Her head aches. She can smell coffee, strong and rich, and when she can make her limbs work she stumbles towards the aroma. There’s a moment as she approaches the kitchen, Beth’s back to her, that she frets over what to say but then Beth just turns around with a mug of coffee in her hands and a gentle smile, and Alison knows there’s no need for words, for reasoning and excuses. 

They sit at the kitchen table across from each other, nursing their cups, and Beth says, “We have to stick together, look out for each other.”

“Safety in numbers,” Alison says, somewhat flippant. 

But Beth looks serious as she answers, “Yes, exactly. We’ve been made legion, just one of a few. Who knows why, but we can use that for our own advantage.” She pauses, cocks her head and adds, “Can you use a gun?”

Alison bites back her surprise. “No. Donnie knows, but I’ve never - no.”

“I’m going to teach you how to shoot,” Beth says. She looks fierce, more fired up and present than yesterday in the diner. “I’m going to keep you safe, us safe.” And Alison believes her, trusts her, with her life from that moment.

***

The first time they’d met, Alison had made sure it was in the most public place she could think of, in the middle of a busy mall a few suburbs over.

She’d arrived half an hour early to prepare herself, to be ready for whatever this Detective Childs wanted to talk to her about. But early meant she had time to spare, and time to fidget, and she’d tapped so impatiently at the table in the cafe that she’d tipped the table, her latte spilling all over the floor. Between mopping it up with napkins, snapping at the waitress now giving her the stink-eye, and keeping an eye on Gemma and Oscar on the jungle gym just outside she’d missed Beth’s entrance. 

So in the end, she had no warning but a quiet cough and a soft voice saying, “Alison? I’m Beth.” And she’d looked up unawares, right into her own eyes, her own face, and finally met herself, her family.


End file.
